


two sides of the coin

by procrastinatingbookworm



Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Duality, Gen, POV Second Person, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 09:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12885444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: is there a word for something that you know you must do, that you want to do more than anything, but you hate yourself for doing, but you don’t know why, perhaps because you have more than one reason and maybe all of them are wrong?No, Delirium, there isn’t a word for that.





	two sides of the coin

Orpheus renounces you, flees from you, and you hide your hands in the folds of your robe so that no one will see the way they shake, or the blood beading on your skin where your nails dig into your palms.

Your raven alights on your shoulder, flapping for balance, cawing his concern, but you shrug him off (  _he looks hurt, and worried, all the dreams and servants trailing behind you do, and you want to be sorry but there is too much else in your head_ ) and disappear into the library.

You search the shelves for a very particular book, and in the time it takes you to find it ( _you could ask Lucien, but you don’t know if the knot in your chest will let you speak_ ) your son has already failed.

You forget what you were looking for. You forget if it was the book that would contain some form of assistance, some scrap of hope for him, or if you meant what you said, that you wouldn’t help.

( _Every coin has two sides, and one side of you would like to think that yes you would have helped, you would have tried, and the other whispers that he was always going to fail and there was no point anyway._ )

So you look for a different book. And you kneel on the floor of the library and read from it.

What you do next is not a concept that can be explained in words, ( _is there a word for something that you know you must do, that you want to do more than anything, but you hate yourself for doing, but you don’t know why, perhaps because you have more than one reason and maybe all of them are wrong? No, Delirium, there isn’t a word for that._ ) but the result is simple enough.

You block your sister’s realm from your son. You make Orpheus immortal.

 

You do not tell Calliope. You do not tell your raven, or Lucien, or Merv, or the children that for some reason speak to you ( _they are the only ones_ ) when you step into their dreams. You do not tell your siblings.

Death knows, anyway, and she slaps you so hard that your ears ring, then hugs you so tightly that the wound-tight tension in your chest threatens to crack. She looks like she would like to be angry at you. She says your name instead, breathless and sorrowful, and you wonder what you must look like to make her smile like that, like she is brittle too.

( _You are the brittle one, not her, but maybe all the Endless are, in their own ways_ )

You have a conversation made of half-finished sentences and your sister looks like she would like to hit you again.

When she is gone you disappear into other people’s dreams and lose yourself.

 

Your son dies.

Your son does not die.

Your son is torn apart, and his head ends up where you wish it to be, on an island. You have visited the priests of the island in their dreams, told them what they and their descendants must do until… ( _for the rest of time, one side of the coin says, and the other says until i come back and offer him a boon, and seal both of our fates_ )

He calls you father. You do not know whether you were expecting him to or not.

You do not look back. Your eyes sting.

One side of the coin speaks when you say that you will never see him again.

The other side says that you are not yet too tired to continue, but you will be, and the boon you will offer to Orpheus will be as much for you as for him.

You do not look back.

 

Hundreds of years later, you and your youngest sister ask your eldest brother how to find the prodigal one. ( _You are tired, and more than tired. You are weary down to your very bones._ )

Destiny reminds you of the only Oracle that could see what you are looking for. Everything unravels inside your head and around you.

“No…” you say, for a hundred thousand reasons, first and foremost because

_he will ask a boon in return for his help and you know what he will ask and you do not want to kill him_

but also because

_you do not want to die. you are weary of living but you do not want to die._

you are on your knees and shaking and your hands are covering your face and clutching at your arms and curling in the fabric covering your fragile chest and.

And Delirium is pulling you to your feet and for a minute she is whole, she is a rebuilt moment of Delight, because someone must continue while you are falling apart.

( _you’ve been falling apart since you first laid the path that is now so clear ahead of you. Maybe since Calliope placed your son in your arms and you stared down at the being that you had helped create and were terrified and it doesn’t matter now it will be over soon_ )

Then she is herself again, and you have scraped together enough composure and enough of the voice whispering _you wanted this_ to be something like yourself again, and you go onward.

 

Your brother, your lost brother, the prodigal one, shakes your hand before he leaves. The warmth of him lingers on your skin, and crawls its way behind your eyes, too.

No one can seek Destruction and leave unscathed.

 

You return to your son, to tie up the last of the loose threads left hanging by centuries of mistakes.

You kiss his forehead and dismantle what you did to keep him from your sister and then he is gone.

You close his eyes.

There is blood on your hands, your arms, vivid red, and where the droplets touch the grass, flowers bloom.

( _You’ve always been known for red flowers. First poppies, now these._ )

“You killed him,” your sister says, and yes. You did. But not here, not now. Paradoxically, you killed him when you refused to let him die.

( _The other side of the coin whispers that you killed him when you stood still instead of following him down the steps, when you placed selfishness and empty responsibilities and your flawed moral code over family. You killed him with your wounded pride._ )

 

“So live…” you echo, and something vital and irreplaceable dissolves in your chest.

Both sides of the coin mourn for your son, because he is your son, but one because he did not deserve to suffer so that you could have an escape. ( _You are not sure which side it is._ )

 

“Dream, give me your hand.”

You wonder if the Endless, if the points of view that comprise your personality outside of your function, have an afterlife.

You wonder if you will see Orpheus there.

You have ( _a hundred, a_ thousand _apologies_ ) an apology to make.


End file.
